Death and I
by Dealer Umbra
Summary: A blood elf, hateful from abandonment. An orc, her blood boiling with the rage of her kind. A human trying to change the past. Three death knights of the Scourge have risen to lay siege to the Scarlet Crusade. Contains OCs, in case it wasn't obvious.
1. Winning Friends and Influencing Enemies

The pain was excruciating - but bearable, after so many times. His body was unwounded, his skin even smooth, but his mind... they had spent hours breaking him down. He did not know why he was alive. He did not want to was the fourth time he had been resurrected by the necromancers, and each time the pain eased a bit.

"Dhaungloth Windwhisper, you have been resurrected and found worthy. Necromancers, grant him the trappings of a herald of Arthas."

The elf raised his head at the mention of his name, and found himself staring into an abyss. He had heard legends of this man, if one could call something this despisable _man_; the one who trained the Scourge's elite forces known as death knights. Those who were fit for more than lumbering around mindlessly or fodder for the others, as most of the blood elf's friends had been chosen to be before his eyes. Their names would never leave his mind; neither would the images of their bodies being eaten by the risen ghouls of their former friends. _Rin'dalos... Maj'tan... and sweet, sweet Tar'vana. _He would never see any of them again, because of the man – no, monstrosity – that stood before him now. Razuvious the Plague. The two necromancers that stood beside him, no taller than the elf but still dwarved by the Instructor's massive body frame, standing at least nine feet tall, nodded.

"As you wish, my lord."

The giant eyed the elf again, those dark and calculating eyes sending shivers of fear throughout his body. They looked as if they had seen all horrors of Azeroth, which was not unlikely.

"Your name is no longer 'Windwhisper', elf. You shall be Dhaungloth Bloodwalker, knight of the Lich King!"

Somehow, those words were worse than all the pain they could inflict to him. He was no longer a part of his homeland... He was no longer a blood elf. He had lost his right to live, to breathe the same air as his comrades in Quel'thalas. As a matter of fact, he didn't. He gasped for breath – or tried to, at least. His lungs would only reject the cold air and shoot it straight back out. He didn't breathe his comrades' air because he couldn't; he didn't live in the same world because he didn't live. An unbearable sadness shook his body...

_(everythingshalldie)_

...as the two necromancers grabbed his shoulders. In unison, they uttered two words.

"Ebon Ascendancy!"

Razuvious eyed the newly resurrected one with despise as it shook violently on the floor. The pain it surely felt now would be less to himself than the wind in his face. He had faced nigh-unbearable pain the many times he had defended Naxxramas against attackers – this was nothing in comparison to that. It was at those times he could see beyond the veil of the Scourge and look into the eyes of death. It was not a pretty sight, not even for someone like himself, who could pass that barrier easily.

Yet, this was the most important part of the recruitment; to see if they could cope with the full might of the Ebon Blade itself cast upon them. This event was so far into his own past that he had all but forgotten it, and yet he could still feel the aftereffects. The Lich King's pull was still as strong... now even stronger than usually. The body before him writhed in pain and agony, and he shrugged impatiently. After a few moments, the shaking stopped and the body grew silent.

The elf felt nothing as he climbed to his feet. The floor had lost it's chill, and so had the wind. He had seen the light at the end of the tunnel... and put it out, like a candle in the wind. No longer would the air blast out of his open mouth, his lungs desperately rejecting them. He was dead... yet he felt more alive than ever before. He was the Scourge. He was the Frozen Throne. He was Frostmourne. The world was at his feet. He could feel the Lich King's very essence in himself... a dark heart that beat next to his own.

"Instructor... I await your orders."

_Success, _Razuvious thought, not without pride. The number of initiates that survived – well, _passed _was a better word for it – the Ebon Ascendancy had declined over the past few months, and now they were lucky if they could gain as much as two in a day. Even so, the ones who passed were nothing compared to the knights of the past... himself, Rivendare, or even Darion Mograine. Razuvious still despised the young death knight being chosen to lead the assault on New Avalon, with or without the Ashbringer at his side. He looked at the new initiate with nothing but disrespect in his face.

"You will adress the Lich King himself, recruit. He awaits you on the ledge overlooking the village. You will find him if you follow your heart... or what remains of it." The initiate nodded, and went off.

As Dhaungloth half-walked, half ran around the necropolis' central chamber, he observed it. He had memories of looking at this magnificent structure from beneath, as it was clearly visible from his home town of Tranquilien. He had lived there since before the Scourge's coming, when the Lich King – at that point still known as Arthas, traitor Prince of Lordaeron – had invaded Quel'thalas for the sole purpose of resurrecting the necromancer Kel'thuzad. Only months ago, Acherus, better known as the Ebon Hold had appeared in the skies over the Plaguelands to their south. Everything after that was a blur... but he felt like something had happened. The chamber was divided into two rings; an inner ring which served as containment for unworthy initiates, and an outer ring which was packed with the Scourge's suppliers. The inner ring was a place Dhaungloth knew very well. They had kept him there for the half-hour after failed resurrections that it took for his soul to break free of his body. It was there he had seen his comrades (the unworthy) serve as target practice for the initiates (the worthy) one by one, until the only face he recognized was his own... and the face of death. He would never have thought the two would become one and the same one day.

As he approached the platform, he felt the pull in his chest grow stronger, his dark heart beat faster and faster. The Lich King was here, no doubt. He stood before a pair of stairs, surrounding a glowing circle of light which was best left alone. Just as he was about to place his right foot on the stairs, he felt another pull – a more physical one. He was flung through the air, back towards the inner circle, and for a split second he thought this had all been a trick. An illusion conjured by the necromancers. Then, he saw a shadow run past him. Another initiate, a human. A woman, no less.

"Step aside for a true champion of the Scourge, blood elf. Llona Chillwind doesn't let anyone stand in her way."

The initiate ran up the stairs, and Dhaungloth felt a pang of disappointment. Whoever that was, her remark was true. She was a champion; she already had better control of her newfound abilities than him, and yet it looked to him as if she had only just now ascended as well. Her armor seemed similar to his own, granted to him by the Ebon Ascendancy. She had attained a level an impossible level of power in that short time.

The blood elf felt a hand on his shoulder. He instinctively reached for the sword he carried on his waist – until he remembered that he didn't have one.

"Relax, brother. I haven't come to fight you."

He turned around, and saw another initiate – an orc, and much like the self-proclaimed champion of the Scourge, a woman. She gave him a reassuring smile.

"Don't let the human get over your head. I fought alongside her against one of the masters of this necropolis, the one known as baron Rivendare, and in that fight we could see the full array of a death knight's abilities – our abilities, brother."

Something about the orc's words didn't feel right, but what was it? Something seemed out of place...

"Why did you fight alongside a human, orc? In life, your races are the worst of enemies."

She shrugged.

"Sometimes, you make alliances out of necessity." She reached out her right hand towards him.

"I'm Arukhan Rageclaw, of the Scourge. What's your name, elf?"

Dhaungloth hesitated for a few seconds. Could he trust this orc, just because they were kin? Because they served the same master? _Who am I trying to fool? Both of us have nothing to lose, or anything to win. _He took her hand, and shook it.

"Dhaungloth Bloodwalker, of the Scourge."

The orc nodded.

"The master's waiting, Dhaungloth. Let's not linger here anymore." The blood elf nodded back, and together the two ascended the steps.

"Chillwind... I haven't seen an initiate with your power for a long time. You shall rise and become my right hand, take the place that the traitorous Windrunner once had... Yes, you are worthy." Llona repeated the words over and over again as she stared into the Lich King's magnificent back. He hadn't noticed her yet, but he would. One day, she would be his closest servant... and take over the Frozen Throne after his death. She would rule the world, with the Scourge at her command. She would defeat the Burning Legion and slay Sargeras herself.

"My king, I have come for orders." She made a deep bow in the presence of the Lich King. "I am at your command-" She froze as she felt cold steel on her exposed neck. The Lich King had turned around faster than she could have noticed, his blade ready.

"I sense power in you, initiate, but you are yet to be worthy of my attention. Go back to Razuvious and don yourself a weapon; then we can speak."

Llona remained still, overawed by the powerful voice.

"...yes, my lord Lich King, I will."


	2. Service of the Lich King

"Do not fear, citizens of Havenshire!" Jonas Quimby tried his best to keep his voice steady, but he heard it falter. "The necropolis is not a threat! The Scarlet Crusade is here to protect us! They will lay the Ebon Hold to siege, and defeat the Scourge!" Again, his voice faltered. About twenty of the villagers from Havenshire, as well as those from New Avalon itself, had gathered, and he could see in the crowd that his words didn't get through. It was hard to make someone believe what you yourself thought nothing but a fool's hope. The necropolis looming above felt like a slap in the face whenever you looked up. He could only have faith in that they may be spared. The Scourge couldn't be interested in this town on the eastern edge of the world, barely a peck of dust on a map. On top of that, they Havenshire and New Avalon would be spared. They must be.

"What the mayor says is true, citizens." Jonas twitched; he hadn't heard the crusaders approach the hall. A group of six knights on stout war horses had rode up to them without notice. Either Quimby was a better speaker than he thought, or everyone else was too scared to pay attention. Quimby suspected the latter. The knights' leader, clad in blood red armor and carrying a sledgehammer radiating with light, skillfully stepped off his horse and approached the mayor with the others close by.

"I am Jesseriah Cree, of the Scarlet Crusade. Let me tell you this, citizens! The Lich King will not go unpunished for what he has done! Now that he has exposed himself to us, he shall fall! Do you hear me, faithful allies of the Crusade? We will cast away the terrible darkness that is the Lich King, and free our lands from the terror of the Scourge. No more will you live in fear of ghouls or banshees, no more will fortresses cloud the sky and hold away the sun! No more shall we live in fear of the Lich King, for he has no power over us! The champions of Light shall persevere!"

The crowd had gone completely silent. You could barely hear a sound, but the roaring waves crashing upon the shores. Then, someone raised their hand in a cheer.

"For the Scarlet Crusade!"

It was only a matter of seconds before the others joined in. Jonas stared in awe at the Scarlet Lord who had approached them. He had given them hope... something he could not. It was Cree who should lead them, not he. Suddenly, Cree looked to the skies. Vaguely, Quimby thought he could see a levitating orb in the air above them, emitting an eerie blue light.

"It's the Scourge! We're being attacked!"

In a moment, the five crusaders had drawn bows and now continuously fired arrows at the orb. _A sentry, _Quimby thought. As the flaming arrows penetrated the orb, he could see it more clearly – and was it not an eye? The vision of the Lich King? A horrifying scream stopped his thoughts as one of the villagers had cried out. A hand had gripped his wrist – a decayed hand. At the villagers' feet, a ghoul climbed out of the ground. _Bless the Light, _Quimby thought as the crusaders struck the ghoul down.

"What are the crusaders doing, death knight? I sense a... disturbance below." Arukhan bowed before the Lich King, who towered well above her. The alcove on Acherus' ground floor was almost deserted, save for the two of them only a pair of val'kyr stood by. Arukhan had never before seen a creature – no, a _being_ – like it before. They would have resembled humans, had it not been for their immense length and the pair of feathered wings on their back. There was a divine air around them, as if they were more than just Scourge under the Lich King's control. They served him alright, but even so they seemed... alive. More alive than anyone she had met, even before her battle against Rivendare. After watching Dhaungloth proceed with his own mission, she had fulfilled her own. Acherus had one thing that gave it an advantage against the other necropoli – the Eye. Anyone who had the Lich King's heart could use it as an unseen sentry, scouting beyond enemy lines and uncovering information.

"My king, one who calls himself Jesseriah Cree has appeared at the town hall. I could acquire very little information, but he seems powerful for a Crusader. He could be a threat if he remains unchecked."

The Lich King seemed to contemplate this matter for a few seconds, but Arukhan knew he had already made up his mind.

"Jesseriah Cree... a considerable foe indeed. But there is something more to the Crusade, death knight. An enemy I thought vanquished and defeated a long time ago. Any other reports?"

Arukhan looked through her memory, and was about to answer with a solid "no" when something struck her. _So that's why... it must be!_

"My king, the priests of the Scarlet Crusade have gathered in the Chapel of the Crimson Flame to the south. With them were a group of prisoners, which I suspect once were Argent Dawn. They could hold valuable information."

Arukhan almost thought she could see a smile within the darkness that covered the Lich King's face.

"Argent Dawn prisoners... The Crusade has truly fallen if it would capture those who were once their allies. A good find, Arukhan. I will put the information to good use. You may leave. Darion Mograine will inform you when it is time to strike."

Razuvious eyed down the newly resurrected ones, two in number. An elf from Quel'thalas... and a human, who had much more potential than the former. She had adapted faster... she was exactly what they needed. Even at the time of initiation, she had shown exceptional talent, whereas he was barely average. Still, he was obligated to teach them both. That was his work

"The very foundation of a death knight's power is the runeblade. It is more than just a weapon, it is an extension of the death knight. To wield one, you must engrave upon it your own mark."

He waved around the hall, where weapon racks were evenly spread.

"Take a sword from this hall and bring it to one of the runeforges." He motioned at the closest one; a statue carved into the form of a hellhound's head. The "jaw" overflowed with blue flame, at the same time both hot and cold. In total, there were three runeforges in the circular room, spread out along the northern side. The blood elf seemed hesitant, and remained where he were.

Dhaungloth clenched his right hand into a fist as the human to his right ran towards a weapon rack nearby. He should have known where to find a weapon. He envisioned her path as he looked ahead, and found the weapon she was likeliest to pick: A zweihänder with marks and scratches covering the blade. Stretching out his clenched hand at the weapon, he uttered two words.

"_Death grip."_ The Instructor couldn't believe his ears at first. The blood elf had discovered one of the death knight's abilities... and the full extent of it's use. Just as the human initiate was about to take the battered two-handed blade from the rack, it promptly took flight. Before their eyes, the blade flew across the room and into the elf's open palm. Without a moment to spare, the initiate brought his newly acquired blade to the runeforge and raised it in triumph. The blue flame from the forge spread out across the blade and etched the six runes into the cold steel. _Bravo, Sin'dorei. Bravo._

At first, Llona couldn't believe her eyes. _The blood elf... stole my sword._ _You'll pay for humiliating me, sin'dorei. _Without a word, she picked up another sword from the weapon rack – a one-handed blade, but not less useful. Then, something struck her mind, and she smiled. After eying the weapon rack for a few seconds, she found it: another blade, similar to the one she had already found. Why settle for one weapon, when you could have two?

_What is she doing... _Razuvious' gazed at the human initiate with suspicion. She lingered at the weapon rack for far too long... most initiates only picked up a weapon and went straight to the runeforge. Then again, these three – the two initiates here and the orc woman – weren't like most initiates. As the human walked up to another runeforge and raised her hands into the air, Razuvious realized what she had been doing.

"No! Halt, death knight!"

He was too late.

Dhaungloth could only stare as the otherwise calm runeforge erupted in a stream of blue flame, filling the room with a chilling warmth and flooding over the human initiate – _Llona, _he vaguely recalled her name to be. Within a matter of seconds, a scent of burned flesh and ash spread across the room. Dhaungloth looked down at the blade in his hand, the six runic symbols glowing faintly.

_You're mine now, sin'dorei. _


	3. Preparation for Battle

Dhaungloth observed quietly as the blue flame vanished, withdrew into the jaws of hell. Quickly, necromancers in identical black, purple-lined robes surrounded the charred body of Llona Chillwind. The air tensed as their resurrection spells came into effect, the same technique they used for raising ghouls on the battlefield but refined... Dhaungloth could sense it's very essence, both detesting and intriguing. Without further notice, the blood elf walked to his instructor, runeblade gleaming in one hand. The giant seemed... worried, but barely. Maybe there was still a dried-up heart in there somewhere, but Dhaungloth doubted it. He knew from the start that the human had been powerful, and that the Scourge couldn't afford to lose someone who shows talent. He cleared his throat with a loud _hark _and the instructor turned his gaze toward him. Not without showing, Razuvious shook off the initiate's fate from his mind.

"Good work, blood elf. There might still be a champion of the Scourge somewhere in you, but you'll need more training before that."

He nodded at the central ring of the chamber, where the floor was

_(pain so much pain and torment, beat after beat while fleeting between life and death, somewhere in both and somewhere in neither)_

covered in sand and blood. Along the walls of the lowered central ring ten prisoners were chained, either hostages taken from the Scarlet Crusade and beaten to submission, or initiates that didn't make the cut and were... exhausted. That was what the necromancers had called it during his own repeated resurrections and animations: _the exhaust period. _Should an initiate still have memories of their past, or the slightest emotion, left intact, they were sent to the central ring to exhaust. Slowly, not to break down the soul entirely, the necromancers would then release their unholiness from the body until it was tired out and the soul released itself naturally. Muttering a few words under his breath, Razuvious dropped something into Dhaungloth's hand – a metal key, seemingly materialized out of nowhere.

"This key unlocks the chains of one of our prisoners below, blood elf. Once you have released one of them, kill it before it has a chance to escape." Razuvious waved at the prisoners in the circle, about twenty in total. "These are no more than bodies to us. Corpses that refuse to die, lambs to the slaughter. For one reason or the other, they have been kept alive until now... but that will soon change, initiate. For the Scourge!"

The Ebon Hold's upper floor was a much calmer place compared to the veritable chaos below. As the Scourge was still holding back their forces, Arukhan found herself restless. She felt her blood boil with the rage of her kind, the proud Orcs of Durotar, and the will of the Lich King pulling her into battle. The humans below were Scarlet Crusade, the true evil in this conflict. How many orcs had not seen their end at the hands of a Scarlet dog? Was it not they who had imprisoned the Warchief for nothing more than being an orc? How deeply had not their allies, the Forsaken, suffered from their torture? Should it mean the Crusade's downfall, Arukhan would sacrifice anything. Realizing that it would give her a second strike at the Scarlets, Arukhan had even submitted to the Lich King and his necromancers. _A decision I will never regret, _she thought_. While this orc stands, the Crusade shall fear the blade of Rageclaw. _The large, broad-bladed runeblade sat shivering on her back, as eager to fight as its wielder.

"Are you ready to fight, sister?"

Arukhan looked up – and found herself staring into a pair of glowing horse-eyes. The deathcharger was the mount any champion of the Scourge would eventually have, and Siouxsie Deathsinger was no exception. The former banshee, now death knight once belonged to the night elves of Teldrassil, a race who had been granted immortality from the Well of Eternity. When the well was destroyed, that power went down with it. Now, Siouxsie had once again gained immortality – in undeath, under the Lich King. Her face was a paragon of beauty even in death, the serenity of her race and the unmistakable hold of the Lich King giving her an air of grace. Siouxsie's squire was nowhere in sight, a surprise in it's own: the death knight and her geist was inseparable, no matter how much she denied it.

"I've sent Edwards off to mend the Tooth of Sapphiron, if that's what your wondering."

Arukhan's cheeks would have blushed in embarrassment, had she any blood left in them. Siouxsie's weapon of choice was a bit strange, most people thought: A rune_lance_, rather than a blade. That thought only lasted until you saw her fight. Atop her deathcharger and armed with the Tooth of Sapphiron, Siouxsie was a deadlier weapon than any other. Enhanced with the strength and the might of the Lich King, the lance could even split stone. Arukhan nodded.

"I'm ready to fight the Crusade, my lady banshee. My blade is restless, and so am I."

Siouxsie nodded in approval.

"When that squire of mine returns with the Tooth, I will see if I can't persuade Mograine into launching the assault. I don't even see what's taking him so long."

As Siouxsie gracefully dismounted from her deathcharger, it faded away into the shadows. Arukhan found herself staring into the empty air, the eyes of the Scourge staring directly into hers. She didn't know which pair was more intimidating; the deathcharger's, or it's master's.

As the blood elf jumped into the inner ring, Razuvious turned to the charred corpse on the ground – or, more specifically, the necromancers that surrounded it. This wasn't the worst runeforge-related accident the instructor had seen in his days, but it was certainly among them. Emblazoning two weapons at the same time would cause the fires to divide, making them harder to control. It was something that required intense mental training, and certainly wasn't anything for an initiate to try – even one with Chillwind's potential. The custom was forging one at a time, or just stick with a two-handed weapon. Razuvious knew only a few death knights who chose to wield two weapons in battle, and they were often not as efficient as their comrades. In a quick step, he came up to the necromancers.

"Hurry, you fools! This initiate was actually promising, unlike the lot of you! Get her back on her legs, or you will have to answer to the Lich King himself. Do you copy, necromancers?"

The unholy mages didn't answer in words, but instead by doing their work: the way Razuvious wanted them to. Six of them now encircled the initiate, purple lines of twisted light streaming out from their feet and forming a hexagram around their target. It was one of their most powerful matrices, and one they would certainly need. In unison, six whispers slipped out through dried lips:

"O glorious Death, give this soul to us once more. Let her no longer burn in the chilling storms of the worlds beyond. O glorious Death, hear our words and grant us our wish." The hexagram flared up in bright blue, the same flare that loomed within the runeforge. Razuvious thought it ironic for a split second.

"O glorious Death, let us..."

At first, Llona thought she was dreaming. She was back in Lordaeron, in the flourishing Festival Lane of Stratholme. She remembered it very well, as she had used to go to with her family to this very place on market days. Above all, the sun surprised her the most: She could not remember the last time she had seen it. A beacon of light in the cloudless sky, making everything seem a bit more worthwhile. The peasants and their wives came in from outside with their harvested crops, in a steady stream. Traveling merchants offered their goods, and the occasional jester entertained the by-passers. The city was alive, more so than it would ever be again, and the death knight felt very, very lonely. She felt a sudden presence of Light; before she could hide, she found it and deemed it harmless – no less than twenty yards away, a paladin of the Silver Hand granted his blessing to a farmer. The paladin seemed familiar, but she couldn't place him. The farmer, eager to thank his benefactor, bowed deeply. The farmer's wife and daughter curtsied – the latter more clumsily, holding on to her mother's skirts, but still with some sense of grace for a five-six year old.

"May the Light be with you, lord Fordring."

_Fordring? _No wonder she recognized him. _The Lord of the Argent Dawn, Tirion Fordring? _Llona took a closer look at the brown-haired paladin with the resolute face and deep, dark brown eyes. It did look like Fordring... but too young. The paladin turned around, to fully face her, and eliminated any thought of this paladin being the Highlord of the Argent Dawn. On his chest, he wore the emblem of the Scarlet Crusade.

"The Light is with all of us, peasant. You and your shall go with my blessing. It will protect you against the malicious Cult of the Damned."

The farmer nodded appreciatively.

"The Light knows that we need it, lord Fordring. My mother is terribly ill, and is sadly confined to her bed. My eldest daughter is watching over her, but I fear she will not last long. Your blessing comes timely, lord Fordring. You have my gratitude."

The paladin nodded, and reached out his arms humbly towards the sky.

"I am only here to serve the Light, but I was glad I could help. The Crusade will remember you in times of need, farmer. Now, I have other matters I must attend to."

The paladin turned around, and walked down the street. Llona felt the stress fade away as the Light's servant vanished into the crowd.

"Dadda, who was that?" The farmer's daughter walked up to her father. "Was it a priest? Because he talked a lot about the Light, and Mother MacDonnell always talks about the Light in church. But he had a sword, and I don't think priests know how to fight with swords."

The farmer smiled, and picked the little girl up in his arms.

"Always a talker, my girl. No, sweetie-pie, that was a paladin. He's like a priest, but instead of helping us commonfolk, they lead the Light in battle against the Cult. Mother MacDonnell taught you about the Cult of the Damned, didn't she?"

The girl's eyes widened as her father put her down on the ground.

"Yes, yes she did! She said they were neco-nerco-nec..." The girl was silent for a few seconds, and then nodded.

"She said they were mages who could bring back the dead. Isn't that good, dadda? If someone dies, then you could just bring them back."

The farmer gasped in surprise, and went down on his knees. Now, he was on eye-level with his daughter.

"I can't believe Mother MacDonnell didn't explain that. You see, sweetie, when the Cult's necromancers brings someone back from the dead, they really don't. They just take a person's body, and make it move like they want it to. It just looks like they're alive, but actually they're dead. The necromancers won't let the body rest, like it should. The paladins put an end to their evil. Your sister is training to become a paladin one day, you know. Then she'll-"

The farmer was cut short by his wife's gaze, which to even Llona had an obvious meaning; _she doesn't need to know. _The girl's eyes widened even more, and suddenly Llona felt a pang of recognition. _This can't be..._

"She'll do what, dadda? Will she fight the Cult?"

The farmer shook his head.

"Let's go home, sweetie. We can't keep Llona waiting."


	4. Lambs to the Slaughter

Arukhan felt the air tense as she and Siouxsie approached the Highlord. To Arukhan's surprise, Darion Mograine was not much older than herself; yet, their difference in strength was obvious. He was... overwhelming, something that the Ashbringer on his back only amplified. The corrupted blade, giving off an eerie, green glow, seemed to crackle with power. Mounted atop a deathcharger, the Highlord was clad in full battle armor befitting that of the Scourge's champion, down to the ram-horned helmet covering his head. The behorned horse snorted at the two death knights as they came closer. Siouxsie respectfully bowed, and Arukhan did the same. She could hear a suppressed laugh from the Highlord.

"You don't have to be so formal, Siouxsie." He nodded at Arukhan, whose entire body seemed to tingle. "Is this one of your new soldiers? Or did you finally behead that squire of yours?"

Siouxsie shook her head.

"No, Darion. I'm not the only Ebon Blade who wants to rain down terror on the Crusade. Why do you hold us back? This citadel alone is strong enough to take on Naxxramas, why should this village be any different?"

In an instant, what could be seen of the Highlord's face became stern.

"We're still waiting for intelligence, Siouxsie. We don't know what we're up against, and we must stay intact. We cannot risk defeat, at any cost."

At this, Siouxsie was enraged.

"Defeat? I have seen the lower floors of Acherus, Darion. Tens of thousands of corpses, ready to be animated in a single glance. The Knights of the Ebon Blade, the champions of the Scourge. A lich, death and magic united. Even the Lich King himself is here, Darion! How could we lose this battle?"

The Highlord shook his head.

"Remember that this is not just the Crusade we're attacking, Siouxsie. Light's Hope Chapel is not far from here, and the Argent Dawn hate us from their very core. You haven't fought alongside them, Siouxsie. You don't know what they can do, how they can bend their Light to their will. They won't stop at anything should they have a chance to end us. We may not die from age, Siouxsie, but that doesn't make us immortal. You should know that better than any other, _kaldorei._"

Siouxsie frowned. She hadn't expected a comeback from the young Highlord, and much less one that struck so hard.

"Fine, Darion. I see you wouldn't want to waste any death knights to the Crusade. You know where to find me."

Siouxsie turned around silently, and walked away to the balcony. As Arukhan's gaze followed her, the banshee death knight's squire – a geist – appeared out of the purple-lit circle on the floor, a great lance in his right hand. To see the weak, fragile figure hold such a terrible weapon... it made Arukhan smile.

"Did you want anything, initiate? I don't think you came around just because Siouxsie told you to."

Slowly turning around, Arukhan felt the gaze of the Highlord on her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Just like the banshee, I want nothing more than to fight the Crusade, my Highlord."

Then, she remembered something.

"I recently returned from a recon mission in New Avalon, my Highlord."

Darion raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Without pause, Arukhan continued.

"The village is in disarray, and the Crusade are desperately trying to stabilize them. As I observed the mayor of the town trying to calm down the villagers, a group of Crusaders appeared and attacked me. Thanks to the Eye, I was able to distract them long enough to flee, but I managed to learn their leader's name. My highlord, the Scarlet dogs in the village are led by a man called Jesseriah Cree."

The Highlord nodded.

"You should have told me earlier, initiate. Had I known this, I could have told Siouxsie we were making immediate preparations for battle. You will leave for Death's Breach within the hour."

Dhaungloth eyed the chained prisoners closely, examining them and determining who would be the one to prove the death knight's worth to the Ebon Blade. All of them were prisoners from the Argent Dawn – not that their Light could save them now. After so many times passing through the veil, these paladins were mere shells of their former selves. Their armor was torn and their weapons broken, much like their minds. They existed only for the Scourge.

"_There. That one."_

Dhaungloth wasn't sure if it was he or the Lich King that spoke; it mattered not. He would have picked that particular prisoner anyhow. A blood elf, like himself, kept in chains near the opposite stairs. Once, she could have been beautiful, but what remained of her past life was long gone. One could tell she had been a warrior, her face and body scarred by countless cuts and slashes. The Ebon Ascendancies she had somehow survived must have left their own scars... the kind you couldn't see. Key held closely in his right hand, Dhaungloth walked up to the imprisoned elf. Surprisingly, she was awake.

"Have you finally come to kill me, Scourge bastard? Even if you don't understand me, I'll tell you I won't put up with another of your foul rituals. You will all burn in the Light's flame when your lord perishes, that's what I say."

With a low click, the key turned and the chains fell to the ground.

"I haven't come to kill you, elf. I came here to destroy you."

The prisoner gasped in surprise. Turning around to face Dhaungloth, the paladin's eyes widened in shock.

"I've heard that voice before... captain Dhaungloth?"

The death knight said nothing, but nodded. The prisoner let out a cry of sadness.

"Captain, what have they done to you? They took away everything that made you sin'dorei! They've tried to drain away everything that made you a force of reckoning, a true champion of the Light! Don't you remember, captain? The sunny Quel'thalas before the coming of the traitor prince Arthas? The many times we fought the trolls of Zul'Aman in Eversong?" She slowly shook her head, tears running from her eyes. "Don't you remember the fall of Tranquilien, captain? The massacre of our people, the murder of Syl'vanas Windrunner? This is _his _doing, Dhaungloth. I can sense him. He's here. He did this to us... to you."

Finally, he spoke.

"I remember well, Tar'vana. But let me ask you this; who was there when I fell at Naxxramas? Who remained after my brothers and sisters of the Argent Dawn abandoned me? Who watched me fall? The Argent Dawn has brought nothing to my life but death, sin'dorei, even more so than the Scourge! The paladins sent all of us into the necropolis without a second thought! We were cannon fodder, Tar'vana. I understand that now. The Argent Dawn are worse than the Scourge, for they only promise the Light's wish after death. The Lich King... I have been given a purpose. "

Tar'vana stood up, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Listen to yourself, Dhaungloth. Arthas is feeding you with his lies and his propaganda. You are nothing but a mindless slave... but I know that in heart, you are one of us. A proud defender of the light, and a sin'dorei. You belong with your people!"

Dhaungloth's eyes were cold and unemotional. He reached for his runeblade.

"I am with my people. I am Scourge."

Suddenly, Tar'vana radiated an incredible light – a Paladin's light. Dhaungloth cursed under his breath; he had tarried too long, and allowed the elf's magical powers to restore. _Nothing I can't handle._

"You were always so stubborn, Dhaungloth. I can only hope that the Light forgives you. _Exorcism!_"

Dhaungloth smiled, and his deadened eyes lit up in flames of green.

"This is where you die, paladin."

Tar'vana was shocked as the air around them was flooded in a field of green light. The field circled the two of them, creating a semi-sphere. Her spell struck home... and Dhaungloth only brushed it off.

"That stung a little."

She stared at him in confusion.

"What did you just- _Aah!"_

She fell to the ground, suddenly feeling hollowed out. The Light that she had bent to her will for so many years, whose power she was free to use at her wish... was gone. Dhaungloth, standing right next to her, smiled.

"Scourge are different from you, sin'dorei. Us champions have powerful abilities... the anti-magic field is merely one of them. Right now, you cannot use any of your spells to damage me. You are at my mercy. Good bye, paladin. May the Scourge be merciful to you, for when I am done, the Light will not recognize you."

Tar'vana, lying on her back and staring back into her captain's face, coughed.

"Good bye... death knight."

With a quick motion, Dhaungloth brought down the blade

(_squish and flicker_)

and drove it deep into the paladin's chest. A burst of blood escaped between her teeth before the fire in her eyes burned out. Dhaungloth nodded.

"Even to the dead, I must keep my promises..."

He knelt beside her body, and placed his right hand on the hole in her chest.

Not far behind Dhaungloth, two other Argent prisoners were chained – a human and a sin'dorei. In a moment of clarity, they had regained their consciousness and heard the entire dialog between the captured elf and her undead captain. As the death knight went down, the human turned to the elf beside him.

"Is he right, Maj'tan? Did the Argent Dawn send us here to die, just to have a brief chance at luring Arthas out of his den?"

The sin'dorei said nothing for a few seconds, his eyes following the two before him closely. When he spoke it was silently.

"I served alongside those two before we joined the Argent Dawn, and under him once we had. I know what he speaks of, and I cannot disagree. We were a squadron from the Argent Dawn, sent into Naxxramas to defeat Kel'Thuzad. We made our progress throughout the entire citadel, until we had cleared the entirety of it all. It was a success... or so we thought. When we entered the chamber of Kel'Thuzad... Arthas was there."

The human gasped. Maj'tan hushed him, and he replied with his voice down.

"The Lich King, outside Icecrown? Impossible!"

"That's what we thought, friend. None of us could stand his power. To this day, I do not know how many survived that fateful encounter. I myself fell... and when I came to, I was here, along with some of us. Of all, I never expected our captain to become one of them. A cold-blooded champion of the Scourge."

What happened next shocked them both.

Dhaungloth's armored hand almost entirely covered the hole in Tar'vana's chest. While the anti-magic field had well faded away, the green flame still lingered in his eyes. Strings of shadow seemed to dance around his fingertips, burying their way into his former friend's still heart. Slowly he released the power of the Scourge into her body, clawing it's way through veins clogged with unmoving blood until it reached her brain. When her eyes opened, they were cold and empty.

"Poppy?"

The death knight nodded, and a wide grin spread across the reanimated elf's face. Her jawbone cracked and broke, making black-turned blood run across her already gray cheek.

"Poppy!"

Without notice, the ghoul-elf jumped off the ground – and hugged the death knight.

The human looked at Maj'tan again.

"Cold-blooded, eh?"

"Shut up."

**Author's Notes:**

In the next chapter, we will finally move on Havenshire! Note that the story may differ from the actual game progression, but isn't that what fanfiction really is about?


End file.
